Sitting on the couch with the moonbeam light.
Along with the lonely moon and I,
Sits a stranger nearby.
A stranger I use to know well, well kinda
Sits on the opposite side of the ‘L’ shaped sofa.
Frozen like a statue I sit, silent.
Dividing truth from lies can be so violent.
I sit looking into the darkness feeling nothing.
He sits crying, hoping I say something.
He hangs on my every breath.
The wind blows through my wafting curtains like death
Causing pictures and trinkets to fall south
And also him to open his lying mouth.
“Are you cold?” a question I think deserves a reply
“I am now, but only on the inside.”
*inspired by a friend's situation
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